I stand on my tiptoes, my arms bound above my head, the rope pulled so taught that I can’t stand flat-footed. Tears stream down both of my cheeks

“Why are you crying?” Master asks.

I’m too focused on the pain to respond.

“I said, why are you crying?” He says again, angrily.

“Because my wrists hurt.”

“Do they? Well, what does that teach you?”

“That I must obey you.”

“Why don’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

When I was younger, I had a special relationship with sex. My sexual behavior wasn’t quite normal for my age. People around me were too narrow-minded. Anything out of their point of view was wrong. I was wrong, actually, and I’m not saying I’m not, but they never tried to understand the reasons behind my behavior.

Our relationship started bizarrely. Master and I had been talking on a BDSM chat forum for a little while, but I didn’t know anything about his life. I had little experience with this, but I was very interested. He had a lot of experience but had no slaves. I told him I wanted to be his.

What excites me the most is to feel I am his. I like it when he chokes me, spits on me, insults me when he does whatever he wants with me. To be his possession. I have no name, only “slave”, but I’m okay with that since I know I can trust him. I know he’s always going to protect me and would never hurt me. His violence makes me feel safe. If I do whatever he asks for I’ll have what I want. He still hasn’t taken my virginity yet, nor has he allowed me to cum since I've become his slave.

One night, he brings home a random woman he met at the bar. He forces me to kneel in the corner of the living room as she gets on her knees and sucks his cock, occasionally looking at me out of the corner of her eye, clearly turned on by the fact I’m watching her. They move into the shower and I can hear them fucking wildly, the woman moaning with orgasm after orgasm, the whole time my denied pussy leaving a small puddle on the hardwood floor. I envy her desperately. She’s gone in the morning.

When I do something wrong, I get punished. Since I haven't had an orgasm since becoming his slave, the punishment has to be something else. Once, when I broke his favorite coffee mug while doing the dishes, he grabbed me by my hair and dragged me towards the front door of the apartment. As always, I was nude except for leather cuffs around my ankles and wrists. I dreaded what he was going to do.

He dragged me out of the apartment and down two flights of stairs, then out into the courtyard of our apartment. Balconies surrounded us on all three sides as he shoved me up against a bench. It was three in the morning on a cold winter night, so no one was out and all the apartments were dark.

He took off his belt and proceeded to beat my ass as hard as he could. I tried to be quiet, but I couldn't; help it. I started screaming and crying with each hit. Eventually, some of the apartment lights came on. A couple of people opened their windows or came on their balconies to see what was going on. When he was finally done, he had beaten me so hard he stopped to catch his breath.

“Are you sorry or what, fucking whore?” He panted, each breath forming a cloud in the cold air.

“Yes, Master.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Master.”

“That’s what I want to hear, whore.”

I know for many being a slave is a sign of repression, but for me, it is the beginning of my freedom. I’ve spent my whole life blaming myself for not fitting into society’s standards. I feel like most people are pretending. I have found a relationship where I can be myself and share it with someone else.

One night, while cooking dinner, Master comes into the kitchen after finishing his shower. He walks up to me completely naked, his cock rock hard and grabs me by the hair.

“Do you want to be fucked, slave?”

I pause for a moment in shock. “Yes, Master.” I finally responded.

He pulls me into the hallway and shoves me face-first against the wall. “Not a single noise, okay?”

He pulls my right leg up a little and slides his cock straight into my pussy. He holds my face in his left hand and forces the right side up against the wall as he fucks me hard and fast. With his right hand, he reaches around and plays with my nipples, before running his hand down my stomach and against my clit. For several minutes he pounds me against the wall. After not cumming in so long I’m quickly drenched and desperate to be allowed, but he told me not to make any noise, so I force myself to hang on and not cum. Eventually, it's too much and I can’t hold it anymore. Just as I’m about to orgasm, he pulls his cock out and spins me around to face him. He slaps me across the face and throws me to the floor. I lay on my back as he stood over me, jerking his cock.

“Here’s your reward, whore.” He says as he cums over my face.

I stick out my tongue, like the greedy whore I am, and lap it all up.

“So, what do you say?” He asks.

“Thank you, Master.”

“That’s what I want to hear, slave.”

That night, he leads me back to my cage and locks me up. I’m so horny I would fuck the first thing that moved, but at least I’m not a virgin anymore. He’s claimed me as his own. I’m that much closer to finally earning my collar. As he prepares to turn out the light and shut the door, I do something I’m not supposed to do. I speak without being spoken to.

“Master.”

He turns around. Whatever punishment he gives me, I’m willing to accept it for what I’m about to say.

“I love you.”

His face transforms into a slight smile. He nods, turns out the light, and closes the door.

TO BE CONTINUED…